Chapter 4

The Aspen photos were gone.

Sarah had a small, hidden corner in Ethan's vast house, a guest room that had become hers by default.

On the wall, she'd pinned a few cherished photos of her and Ethan, taken years ago on a trip to Aspen. Their special place.

They were laughing, young, full of hope.

Now, the wall was bare.

In their place, on the main mantelpiece in the living room, were new, professionally taken portraits.

Ethan, Brittany, a smiling EJ, and the new baby, Lily.

The perfect Vanderbilt family.

Sarah felt a cold dread creep through her. She was being erased.

She confronted Ethan that evening, her voice shaking.

"The photos, Ethan. Our Aspen photos."

He looked uncomfortable. "Oh, that. Brittany thought... it was time for an update. More current family pictures."

"Our family?" Sarah's voice rose. "Or your family with her?"

"Sarah, don't make a scene."

Years of broken promises, of being a glorified nanny, of silent suffering, welled up.

"A scene?" she cried. "My life is a scene, Ethan! A tragedy you directed!"

He tried to placate her later, with soft words and empty reassurances.

Then he dropped the next bomb.

"My grandparents... they insist Brittany and I make it official. A legal marriage. For the children, for the estate."

Marriage.

The word hung in the air, a death knell for any lingering hope Sarah might have harbored.

The ultimate blow came not from Ethan, but from his son.

EJ, now a spoiled and increasingly cruel six-year-old, had always resented Sarah. He'd picked up on the family's disdain for her.

Sarah's most precious possession was a small, battered digital voice recorder.

It held messages from her late mother, recorded on their hikes together. Her mother's laughter, her advice, her voice. Irreplaceable.

Sarah kept it hidden, but EJ found it.

She walked into her room to find him smashing it against the floor, a malicious grin on his face.

"Stupid lady's stupid toy!" he shrieked.

The recorder lay in pieces.

Sarah sank to her knees, the sound of her own choked sob echoing in the silent room.

Her mother's voice. Gone.

Everything was gone.

The last link to her past, to love, to kindness, shattered by the son of the man who claimed to love her.

That was the breaking point.

She looked at the wreckage of the recorder, then at her own reflection in a shard of broken plastic.

She saw a stranger, hollow-eyed and defeated.

No more.

She would not wait anymore. She would not endure anymore.

She had to leave.